


wherever you are is where I call home

by hotelsweet



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, prompts/requests from my tumblr!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-01 19:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelsweet/pseuds/hotelsweet
Summary: prompts/requests/one-shots that were originally posted on my tumblr





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> oceanvirus asked: this could be either a fic prompt OR a headcanons prompt, whatever floats ur boat but: how jake discovered amy's terrifying love of jeopardy

The first time Jake experiences Jeopardy Amy, or, as he’s named her- _JeopardAmy_ , is in their second week as a couple.

It’s a surprisingly chilly night, given the time of year. Over and over, he finds he’s cursing himself, climbing out of his car with a bag so full with food it’s having him struggle to lock the car- once he manages it he’s dashing into her building, hoping, _praying_ , she’s read his texts and won’t hate him for being a good half an hour late.

Eventually, after this ridiculously clunky elevator has hauled itself to her floor, he’s outside her door. He knocks awkwardly, pressing himself against the door so he can keep hold of the bag. There’s no answer. Faintly, from the inside, he can hear her TV playing- she’s there, alright. She’d about as much leave her apartment with her TV still switched on as she’d jump out of the window in lieu of the elevator.

“Ames? It’s meeee,” he announces, opening the door, “your favourite person and the sexiest detective in the NYPD-”

“Jake, ssh!”

She cuts him off effortlessly; her shush is the most powerful, if slightly threatening thing he’s ever heard.

He doesn’t care- the image of her right now is so beautifully amusing that he has to restrain himself from laughing, or at least taking a picture; sat in the middle of her couch, her throw blanket is wrapped around her so her face is the only thing poking out of it, her intensely wide-eyed, fixated expression framed by the blanket.

He catches sight of the television, where the recognisable set of _Jeopardy!_ is visible, and it all makes sense.

Repeatedly, she’s spoken about this show at work- there’s even a rumour that, once, particularly angered by a recent episode, she’d called the studio where it was filmed and shouted down the phone- Rosa maintains to this day that she witnessed this, and that Amy is now no longer legally permitted to contact them.

The sight of her is almost eerie, Jake thinks, watching her carefully as he sits next to her on the couch. She’s barely blinking, the cool glow of the TV screen in her eyes, occasionally muttering to herself, repeating whatever it is the presenter offers up.

“The only U.S. island… allowed a possessive apostrophe…” her gaze doesn’t shift. She barely blinks.

He pulls the boxes of takeout from the bag and puts them on her coffee table, making sure to lay them on the placemats she’s kept on the side since he started coming here more often. He doesn’t care that it’s the same approach his Nana used to tackle his messy eating when he was a kid- Amy’s happy to have him eating here, and that’s all that matters.

“Oh my god… I _know_ this… you _know_ this, Amy…”

Jake doesn’t open his food just yet, no matter how much he wants to- he’s scared of making any noise, any movement that’ll distract her.

It’s a pretty conscientious move on his part, he thinks, given how long he’s gone without food- if you can call his candy-based lunch ‘food’- but he’s half-petrified and half-in-love with this insanely tense obsession and the way it’s making her act, and couldn’t make himself stop it if he tried.

This contributes to half the shock when she blindly whacks him in the face.

“MARTHA’S VINEYARD!”

Amy yells so loud he jumps, jolting upright, caught off guard- totally unaware of her outthrown hand as she throws it up, a deft, harsh hit to his nose.

“OH, my-” are the only words he manages, immediately trying to stifle his reaction as his hands fly to his face protectively.

“Jake! Oh my god, oh my god, I’m _so_ sorry,” she apologises, over and over, panic filling her voice. “I’ll get a cloth, or something, oh my god-” Her voice trails off as she disappears hurriedly into the kitchen.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he tries, his voice tight, but, reaching for his nose, he finds his hand covered in a hot stickiness that can only mean blood. “Agh.”

He can hear her opening and closing cupboards behind him before she comes running back into the living area, clutching a handful of tissues.

“Take a few to stop the bleeding and I’ll clean the rest,” she clambers onto the couch next to him, her leg over his, almost sat on his lap- “Oh, Jake.” This is quiet, regretful, as she dabs gently at the blood.

“Honestly, it’s all good,” he insists cheerfully, but he can hear the slight shock still in his voice. “Y’know, I was actually waiting for the right moment to tell you that being surprise-punched by women is a huge kink of mine, so you’ve actually done me a favour.”

“Oh my god,” she chuckles softly, relaxing a little at his joking, though still rolling her eyes in that way he’s so used to. “I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident,” he says sincerely. “Although, I may have to insist we ban _Jeopardy!_ as watching material if I’m within a two-meter radius of you.”

“Yes, good idea,” she enthuses, but her face falls- “but I tried that last time, and it only really works if I don’t start throwing things.”

“ _Last time_?”

“I winded my brother by elbowing him in the stomach,” she admits.

“Noice, noice,” he replies quickly, making her laugh, “oh, side note, did I mention you’re petrifying and I love it?”

She smiles sheepishly, scrunching up her face as she giggles softly at his response. A dimple in her cheek, one he’s noticed but only ever from afar, becomes prominent as her dark hair falls into her face while she laughs. A punch administered by someone this beautiful, he figures, is almost worth it- that is, if the fond swoon for her in his chest is anything to go by.

Quietly, she leans in to inspect the damage, chuckling, and apologising, and pressing a repentant kiss against his mouth. He’ll not admit it, but as she chats and tends to him and he makes her laugh, a confession to himself tells him that he wouldn’t mind if she did it again.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Prompt: amy having a bad panic attack at home before jake is home from work and he walks in and sees her on the floor hyperventilating

The last fifteen minutes of Amy Santiago’s evening have passed by in a whirring, gut-wrenching blur, fear and worry kicking and twisting at her insides until she can barely think straight.

Perhaps that’s how she ended up on the floor, she thinks, cradling her knees so tight her fingernails dig through the fabric of her sweats.

The breathing exercises aren’t helping anymore- her chest is tightening, her muscles are freezing, that horrendous overwhelming desire to become _smaller_ , _smaller_ , begging in desperation at the back of her head. She’s dealt with this long enough- an occasional panic attack or an anxious breakdown isn’t exactly unheard of, working in the line of duty. Let them come, let them go.

She should be grateful, she supposes; she hasn’t had one this bad for months. Then again, she hasn’t worked a case as haunting, as difficult, as dragging, in months. Normally, though, it’ll overwhelm her, take over, and then she can get it out of her system. Once it’s done she’ll feel ill, horrifyingly exhausted, let herself rest without the threat of those battery-powered alarms, if she can, then get back to her life.

But this, this one here, now, it isn’t going away.

And she’s got no idea what to do.

The light in her apartment, coming only from a lamp by her TV, is dim- she’d walked through the door, been greeted with the set of PJs Jake had left out for her (folded, on the arm of the couch, sweats on top- just how she likes it), somehow managed to change, and hurried into the kitchen for water, leaving no time to switch any other lights on.

Amy chokes back air as her chest sharply constricts.

A wave of anxiety has been building all week. Lack of sleep. Lack of proper nutrition. Oh, and the hugely mangled body of a young man that she had to see at their crime scene this morning.

The young man that looked so familiar. So familiar that for a moment, she could have _sworn_ it was her brother. Almost nothing in her career so far has ever had her that frightened, hit as close to home, made her want to shrivel up and run away and fight all at the same time.

The thought of it almost makes her heave- she’d thrown up at the crime scene, and she doesn’t doubt she’ll throw up again tonight. Right now, though, she’s scared, so _fucking_ scared, and her breath is squeezing its way out of her body and she _swears_ she’ll suffocate, right here-

“Ames?! Oh my god,” Jake’s voice jumps quickly from alarm into concern as he enters the apartment.

As she lifts her head to see him, she feels the exposure of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She must be choking, because he keeps telling her to breathe- she can’t be sure; everything seems so immensely focused on the fear coursing through her veins that she’s not entirely sure what her body’s doing anymore.

“Come here, come here, I’ve got you,” he reassures her, coming down onto the floor where she sits, pulling her into his arms. The calmness in his voice helps, but even like this she knows it’s not real. “Hands.”

“I can’t-”

“You can. Hands. Floor. C’mon,” he says gently, placing his own hands over hers, warmth flooding over from his touch. He grazes his thumbs over the back of her hands as he takes her hands and presses them onto the cold kitchen floor. This immediately soothes her, a movement to which she’s grown accustomed, a shared motion meant just for the two of them. “Try and feel how still the floor is, Amy. It’s okay. It’s all okay. I’m here.”

The clamminess of her fingers adds a certain level of discomfort as she curls them into the cheap, cool linoleum of her kitchen floor. With her head buried against his neck, her senses begin to trickle back, the thrumming of terror in her head beginning, gradually, to pass- she can feel the fresh raindrops on the leather of his jacket pressing into her forehead, faintly smell his cologne, feel his words reverberate from his throat against her face.

He’s repeating the same words, the ones he knows work best, over and over, and she’s not sure how long it takes, but her breathing begins to come back, fitting a rhythm she recognises as her own.

“It looked…”  She tries to explain herself, but she feels so sick, and he’s here in front of her, on his knees, holding her- she can’t be sick here.

“It’s okay, let yourself come down first, then we’ll talk.”

“No, Jake… it was _him._ ” Her voice is weak, and she hates it, hates how pathetic she sounds, but knows she’ll have to deal with it- her breathing’s coming back, the world is starting to slow, and that’s all that matters.

“It wasn’t him, Ames. I promise. I promise,” he repeats himself, quieter this time, squeezing her hands gently where he rubs them.

He moves from in front of her and sits next to her instead, so she can fall against him. Lightly, he brushes his fingers through her hair. When she looks up at him, he’s watching her with the kind of concern that gives that perfect Jake-ish juxtaposition of childlike worry and experienced maturity, combining to produce the loyalty and protectiveness she knows of him so well. Briefly, these worried eyes meet hers- he presses a firm, certain kiss into her forehead, and she rests against him once more.

They stay like this for a few minutes, perhaps longer.

Amy’s only glad it’s passed, that she can breathe, that _he_ _’s here_. Lord only knows how bad she’d be if he hadn’t come home, if she didn’t have him there, a man who’s seen her this way and knows every single way to help her get better.

“Rosa told you?” she asks, a good ten minutes of silence later. Her voice comes out in a croak; she’s been crying harder than she realised.

“She said…” Jake’s face processes this for a minute, as though he’s not sure whether he should answer. “She said that the body looked so close to Rafael that even _she_ thought it was him for a moment.”

Amy shudders at this reminder.

“I’d never forgive myself…” she murmurs quietly.

She’s not sure she makes sense, but in the warmth of his hold and the way he pulls her closer she knows he understands- a lingering fear for those you love is part of this job, always has been, always will be.

“Your brothers are all safe, Ames. They’re okay. They won’t get hurt,” he says, and though they’re both aware he’s making promises he can’t keep, she can feel it helping. “I won’t let them get hurt.”

They stay this way for a while, him reassuring her, talking quietly where she can, so exhausted she feels ill. Eventually, he helps her up, walks her across the hall and into her room, where she climbs into bed.

He pulls off her socks delicately and hands her a makeup wipe, with which she meekly rubs her face- it’s effort, but he knows she’ll not be able to sleep with even a smear of product on her face.

Sleep wrenches at her from the inside out, as though her body has screamed for help so hard it can’t function anymore. The blankets of her bed feel softer, warmer- and that’s only partially because he’s in bed with her, fully dressed, holding her as she falls asleep. Her lids are heavy, but she manages to voice the one thought left in her numbed-out mind:

“I love you.”

A kiss behind her ear, a murmured repeat of those same words, tell her that he’s there. It’s all she needs.

Perhaps all she’ll ever need.

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Prompt: Random girl at bar starts flirting with Jake, Jake is clueless and it all goes right over his head, Amy steps in and gets her to back off

On an early December evening, the warmth of Shaw's is immediately comforting- as he enters, Jake can feel everything from the freezing cold tip of his nose, to his red cheeks, to the stiffness of his icy fingers, encompassed by the cosy heat of the room.

Reluctantly- despite this warmth- he pulls off his coat and his scarf as he approaches the bar, slipping onto a stool and trying to catch Carl's eye so he can signal for a beer. This is to no avail; it's busier than usual in here, even for a Friday, and he's completely occupied, hands full with dirty glasses while someone gives him an order. For now, Jake relaxes against the bar, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time.

For what may very well be the first time in his life, he's early.

He's due to meet her here in half an hour, to celebrate the end of what's been a completely tortuous week. Both are working stupidly, painfully long cases, and have barely seen each other, even at work. He feels it in his chest, a tightness, one he's known long before these couple months of their romantic relationship- a tightness that can only be fixed by Amy.

A hollow grumble in his stomach brings a sharp pang of hunger into his head, which is when he realises he hasn't actually had anything to eat since breakfast. Mindlessly, he picks at a bowl of peanuts on the bar, only glancing up a couple of times- to order a beer, and to check for Amy.

"Hey, are you okay? You look lonely!"

A saccharine, perky voice makes him do a double take; at first, he's not even sure it's addressing him, until he turns round and sees a smiling blonde woman next to him.

She's young, that much is obvious- can't be older than her mid-twenties. Leaning against the bar, the first thing he finds himself noticing is a crisp blouse, similar to one Amy owns, folded up around her elbows; she must have come straight from the office.

"Uh…” he stammers tiredly, caught off-guard by the sleeve of her blouse and its reminder of Amy, “oh, sorry," he chuckles awkwardly at his delayed response. She giggles along with him, gesturing as though to brush it off. "I'm good! I’m early, waiting for someone," he explains.

"Ooh," she responds with a smile, as though this is the most interesting thing she's ever heard. "I'm Nora! Y’know, you should bring whoever you're waiting for over with you when they arrive! Me and my friends are over there," she proposes merrily in what sounds to be a Canadian accent. She turns and points to the back of the bar, where a few men and two more women sit in a booth. They’re all of a similar age, as far as he can tell, chatting away happily together- they have that early-twenties glow, he thinks, of being young and not feeling quite as many of life’s pressures just yet.

Nora almost has to shout over the bustle of noise in the bar, a mixture of voices and music and occasional clattering from behind the bar. Nevertheless, she maintains a happy smile- it's contagious, Jake thinks, wonderfully friendly. She's either from out of town, or having a really good day.

"I'm Jake," he smiles.

"Jake," she repeats slowly, relishing the word, staring straight at him. Her smile wavers for a moment, the glimmer of a smirk twitching in the corner of her lips. "What d'you do, Jake?"

"Oh, uh, I'm a cop," he says, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice- it's rare that anyone chats around here, let alone that he's approached, and he's completely exhausted. It's harmless, he thinks, just unusual.

"A cop, huh" she grins, and it's at this exact second that Jake has to refrain from hitting himself- she's flirting with him. Obviously, obviously, she's been flirting with him, and has been since she greeted him. Guilt pinches at his system. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaims, gently squeezing her fingers over his wrist, “please tell me you’ve been on badass shoot-out on a roof at least once.”

"Uh,” he freezes, completely unable to conjure a reply, overcome with surprise and a large part of guilt. Thankfully, he needn’t panic-

“Hey, you’re early,” Amy’s voice comes quickly from behind him, rushed, as though she’s hurried here. It’d check out- she’s ten minutes early, rather than fifteen, like she normally aims to be. She stops at his shoulder when she sees Nora stood next to him, taken aback by the presence of a stranger. “Hi.”

There’s a long pause, as the two women eye each other up. Nora seems insistent, not backing up, though it’s clear Amy’s with him.

“Hey,” Nora replies sweetly, her hand staying firmly on Jake’s wrist. “I’m Nora, I was just… uh,” she stammers, half-laughing at herself.

“Just flirting with my boyfriend?” Amy smiles tartly, tilting her head in a move of sarcasm, her gaze shooting to Jake’s wrist. Nora’s hand darts away as though it’s been burnt.

Jake almost does a double take; he’s seen Amy competitive before- lord only knows he’s instigated this version of her- but it’s rare that she’s immediately standoffish when meeting somebody. And though he’d hope she’d never think he’d flirt with anyone else, she could just as easily get angry with him right now.

Nora laughs once, slightly uncomfortably.

“I’ve been here, like, five seconds.” She shrugs. “I didn’t realise.”

“Well,” Amy nods, taking one step closer to her, and firmly folding her arms. “No better time than the present.”

“Woah, okay…” Nora holds her arms up in defeat and resigns, moving away apologetically.

Almost immediately, dismissive of the fact that she’s just shooed off another woman like a total badass, Amy slots herself into the free seat next to Jake and begins to take off her coat.

“It’s so frickin’ cold out there,” she mutters resentfully.

“I…” Jake manages, still totally taken aback- he’s not entirely sure he’s ever seen her jealous or protective like that, let alone willing to act on it. They’ve always had each other’s backs, but that was different. She wasn’t, _isn_ _’t_ , even slightly angry with him. Nevertheless, he finds himself scrambling. “I did _not_ start that.”

“I know,” she laughs softly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time.”

“It does?” The guilt in his stomach buries itself even deeper.

“Hey,” she chuckles, interweaving her fingers with his when she catches the look on his face, “it’s okay. You’re too friendly for your own good. You’re also hot, which doesn’t help. Hey, what are you laughing at?” She asks indignantly when he laughs in response.

“You said I’m _hot_ ,” he teases childishly.

“Jake, we’ve been in a relationship for a year and a half.”

“Mm,” he smiles smugly, “it doesn’t get old.”

She rolls her eyes, but he can see her stifling a small smile.

“That was badass, by the way.” He grins over at her. She smiles softly to herself, and there she is, the woman he loves so much, bubbling over with pride. “Also, could you elaborate on the times when that’s happened before?”

“Oh, Jake,” she laughs, “are you kidding me?”

“No, I mean it, I feel bad, I don’t want you to think I’m-”

“Okay, okay,” she soothes, still smiling. “What about… when we went to the store, and the checkout girl was laughing at all your grocery puns?”

“They were _funny_!”

“Oh, babe,” she grimaces, shaking her head a little.

“Mean.”

“The harsh truth,” she shrugs, signalling over to Carl, who clocks them both and grabs two beers from the fridge beneath him. “It’s not a big deal, I get it- you’re cute.” She smiles.

“True,” he grins, and she sighs, half-laughing at his immediate confidence.

“I’ve never had to push one off you before, though,” Amy mutters, glancing oddly back at Nora’s table. “That was one _clingy_ girl.”

“Have I mentioned how hard it is not to find you super hot when you’re this competitive?” He grins at her, admiring her flushed, cold cheeks and her focused eyes. She rolls her eyes.

“Yes, actually, countless times,” she murmurs, laughing, but she’s leaning in towards him, unable to keep the smile off her lips.

Gently, they share a small kiss. As she starts to pull away, he manages to steal another peck from her cheek. She smiles to herself, so widely that a dimple forms in her cheek.

“For the record,” he says, after they’ve made a start on their drinks, “it happens with you too.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“Well, dudes are way more obvious. Also, you have a weird habit of making jokes about whatever dude is making eyes at me.”

“Psh, no I don’t.”

“The other day? When you texted the group chat about how that defence attorney looked like a Mii?”

Jake snorts.

“That was true.”

“It was,” she admits.

Their night continues as it normally does- dinner is comprised of bar food and beer, and they’re catching up on each other’s week, and until they’re entering Amy’s apartment at almost one in the morning, there’s no mention of jealousy, or competitiveness, or the protectiveness they both know and have for each other. What’s said in those few seconds hardly even counts as a mention-

“I know you know, because it’s the same with you… but I’d never even… _sniff_ another woman. Never,” Jake slurs tipsily, outside her front door.

“Hey, I know,” the whisper dies on her lips as she turns from where she’s been unlocking the door and slides her fingers into his hair, bringing him down to her so their lips meet again.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elsaclack asked:  
> DARCE I FINALLY THOUGHT OF THE PROMPT I WANTED TO REQUEST FROM U!! literally,,,,,literally anything with the protective jake dynamic from maximum security,,,,i would cry so many tears,,,,i WILL cry so many tears,,,bless ur soul thank u in advance i love u dearly <3 <3 <3

Amy shifts over in her cell bed, wishing to hell she could rip this stupid fake baby bump off and sleep in an actual, comfortable bed. She needs sleep, desperately, but all she can think about is Maura, and Figgis, and Jake.

_Jake._

The way he’d tried to protect her. The way he’d admitted he couldn’t be here while she was surrounded by these women.

It’s not the first time she’s seen him protective, not by far- but it’s perhaps only the second time she’s seen him act upon it. The first time was years ago, not long into her job at the nine-nine. It’s perhaps one of her first memories of them as real friends, real partners. Warmth spills into her system at the thought of it.

It’s strange, in a way, she thinks, the fondness this memory elicits- the first time Amy knew that Jake Peralta would always have her back just so happened to coincide with one of the saddest days of her life.

Shifting her head against a thin pillow, Amy lets her mind drift, finding the moment and replaying it, in every little detail, letting it lull her to sleep.

 

***

 

“Y’okay?”

It’s this voice, amongst a sea of others, that catches Amy’s attention. Her eyes rise from her computer screen, and it’s like she comes back to life, snapping out of a daydream; suddenly, she’s starkly aware of how dry her eyes feel, from staring absently at her screen, and of the concerned expression with which Jake examines her.

“Yeah, uh,” she clears her throat, “yeah. I’m fine.”

“Sure? Y’know, it’s almost the end of the day anyway, I don’t mind taking you home if you’re not feelin’ it.” Jake says it simply, like it’s nothing, but she knows it’s a favour, a pity-offer.

“That’s nice,” she replies genuinely, “but I’m really okay. Just tired.”

“Sure. Hey, I think there’s some takeout in the break room, if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, okay,” she says quietly, smiling gratefully over at him.

She clears her throat again, attempting to expel that tightness in her chest, and stands up, deciding a snack and some cold water to the face    will wake her up a little- she’s still got work to do, and she’s not packing up any time soon.

As she moves, she subconsciously feels herself avoiding eyes. The whole squad’s been watching her, and she knows it. Just this morning, her grandfather passed away- and she would have been able to keep it secret, were it not for the fact that Gina had answered the phone this morning, apparently expecting one of Amy’s “nerd friends” and instead being greeted with her tearful mother.

It’s not like she minds things like this interfering with her work day- in fact, she’s more distracted by the devastation aching through her mind and her body, like a numbness just waiting to build up into tears. It’s just the fact that everyone _knows_ , and everyone’s treading on eggshells around her. She’s barely worked here a year, just about falling into a rhythm with everyone, and now, just because she’s not quite close enough with anyone yet, it’s fallen into awkwardness. Even Jake, the biggest pain in her ass since she picked up this job, is being unbearably kind.

Quickly, she heads for the break room, sighing to herself in relief at the slight stretch in her legs from standing up and moving around, a pleasant contrast to what must have been at _least_ fifteen minutes sat in silence.

Once she’s in the breakroom, she finds herself exhaling deeply, finally out of sight from everyone else. On the table are a few boxes; some tacos, some chips, some fries- it’s bland, but it’ll do, she thinks, picking at it mindlessly.

It’s soothing, filling her up quickly.

Right up until, that is, a piercing shout comes from the bullpen.

“HEY!”

It’s Rosa’s voice, but it’s too loud, too much of a warning.

Before she really knows what she’s doing, Amy’s feet are carrying her into the bullpen. It’s a perp, and he’s running- straight towards her. Rosa’s on the ground next to her desk, grabbing her shin and breathing hard through gritted teeth. She’s been hurt.

“Amy!” Rosa yells, and at once, Amy snaps back to life. With no time to grab her gun, she’s throwing herself towards the burly man headed towards her, aiming to debilitate him with perfect procedure- but he’s two steps ahead of her, latching onto her wrist and spinning her round so she’s in front of him, held tightly in front of him with her arm behind his back.

“Let me walk and I won’t grab her gun,” he says casually, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. Come to think of it, Amy realises, he probably has. Her mind buzzes, her heart pounding in her chest, immediately thinking about what to do next. Knock him out? Make a move? Stay still?

The entire room is at a complete standstill- Rosa, Charles, and Terry all have their guns pointed at him, which only makes Amy feel sick; while those guns are pointed at him, they’re pointed at her, too.

Her eyes scam the bullpen for Jake, but he’s out of his desk, nowhere to be seen. Great. Probably gone for a pee, entirely clueless.

She tightens a little, trying to pull away, but he only grabs her tighter, causing her to grimace a little. What a day- losing a family member, experiencing her most awkward, sad, and slow day at work yet, and being used as a meat-shield by a runaway perp.

“You’ve got five,” he says calmly- his voice reverberates against Amy’s back, almost making her shiver. “Four, three, two- _unf_ ”

He’s cut off as he drops to the floor.

Amy spins round to see Jake, holding the guy’s hand behind his back, keeping him against the floor with his foot. The whole room seems to breathe a sigh of relief; Rosa, though she clearly shouldn’t be walking, heads straight towards them, and soon enough Terry’s moving over too. Jake, however, remains entirely focused on Amy, his expression still, and tense, and worried, entirely fixated among the chaos of the room.

Terry’s muttering something to the perp about CCTV, and the charges he’s just added for himself by assaulting a cop. Rosa’s hissing curses under her breath. Charles is explaining the entire situation to McGinley, who apparently missed the whole thing.

To Amy, it’s all an even thicker blur, stood watching it all happen, and directly in the middle of it all is Jake, his voice repeating over and over again at her.

“Amy.” His voice is quiet, but he’s all she really hears.

“I’m fine, thank you for… for…” she says dismissively, moving away from the centre of the bullpen, her head pounding. Air. She needs air.

Faster than she anticipated, she’s outside, sinking against the wall to her knees. The late-Autumn Brooklyn evening whispers a brief shiver down her spine, and her arm aches gently from where

His voice catches up with her, but she’s already lost herself, anxiety thrumming painfully in her mind, pushing her until she’s curling up, her head dropping into her hands.

“Amy.” He’s beside her, crouched down, his hand on her arm. “Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t-”

“Did he hurt you?” Jake’s voice is firm, far more protective than she’s ever heard him before. It has her a little taken aback, just for a moment. She feels herself starting to focus again, the fear slipping away, and she looks up at him. His face is almost angry, brow furrowed, to the point where it almost worries _her_. She’s never seen him like this.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I could’ve punched him,” Jake mutters resentfully, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe it was you… and with the day you’ve had, too”

“Has that happened before?”

“Yeah. Although, in my four years on the force, I’ve only seen two other runners.”

“Idiots,” she says quietly, pressing the back of her wrist against her eye. “Y’know, I could have dealt with that by myself. I was about to go for his stomach with my elbow.” She knows she’s being stubborn, but she’d rather die than look weak.

“Yeah, I know, are you kidding?” Jake says, smiling in that way he always does towards her defensiveness. Any other day, she’d find it annoying. Right now, the normality of it is so perfect it almost makes her cry. “I acted on instinct. Something about seeing you like that made me move, without thinking. Eh, I don’t know.”

“Probably a pretty stupid move,” Amy grins, and he laughs a little.

“Next time I’ll let you fight your corner.”

“Thanks.”

Jake laughs.

“No,” she interjects, “I mean thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t be stupid, anyone would have done it for their partner, for their friend.”

She smiles over at him for a moment. They don’t move, the noise of Brooklyn traffic filling the silence between them.

“I think I need to go home,” she says quietly.

“Let me take you.”

“No, it’s fine, really.”

“Amy,” he looks at her simply, “I’m not letting you go home alone. You’ve lost someone important and just been attacked.”

“I wasn’t _attacked_ ,” she mutters. Jake doesn’t reply, just looking at her, eyebrows raised. “Okay, fine,” she gives in. “I need to get my stuff.” She stands up and brushes herself down, inwardly praying she’s not sat in anything gross.

“Nope, I’m being a good friend now, this is it, this is my duty-” he jumps in, and before she can object he’s running back into the precinct.

Within minutes, he’s back by her side, leading her to his car, chatting about some candy store downtown that sells the exact brand of Mexican gummy bears he likes, and it’s dark outside, and cold, and all she needs to do is sit in his passenger seat and _listen_.

And when she starts to cry, silently, letting this awful day escape her, and he apologises, she knows it’s not for his stories about candy. It’s for this absolute bitch of a world.

In the darkness, she finds herself leaning across her seat into his arms, and crying, for lord only knows how long, in a feat that neither of them will mention for months.

He’s warm, and still, and accepting. Calm. Ready to be there for her, just as he’d been in the bullpen.

And though it’s a long while before she’ll admit it, it’s the safest she’s ever felt.  

Safest she’ll ever feel.

 

 

 


End file.
